


Spades

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: The Kingdom of Spades is in current need of a queen. For Alfred Jones though, its current reigning King, he thinks he can rule the kingdom just fine on his own with a Jack who doesn’t stop with pushing him into marriage interviews, hoping to change his King’s mind. That is, until a man comes along, brought ashore by the waves. We’ll see how this goes from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a request thingy on tumblr. Just finally thought I should post this on AO3 so I won't forget to update. I'm forgetful.
> 
> Alfred is 19, mind.

                Most of the time people would think: _it must be hard, ruling an entire kingdom on your own. You handle the economy, you hold your people, maintain law and order, then you also had to keep in contact with the other kingdoms so you’ll be able to maintain some kind of balance and control with foreign trade and strengthening alliances._

It pisses Alfred off.

Alright, so they were kind of right. Being a King _is_ hard, but he’s not the only one who handles it? There’s literally the council, which was by the way, is composed of stuffy guys in formal clothes who does nothing but “debate” over some bills and policies as they scream at each other whilst they pound their hands against the table’s surface.

Kings may be in the top of the, uh, _hierarchy_ , but that doesn’t mean they do _all_ the work. There’s a reason the ruling figures were _three_.

Because they share the work.

The Jack is responsible with anything concerning kingdom---from the policies to handling people civil service exams. If there was anything Alfred needs to know or keep updated with the happenings inside, it’s the Jack who answers to him.

The Queen handles anything involving the military. A queen will always be responsible with the kingdom’s military prowess. They keep their soldier’s spirits and morales up in times of war. They also handle the law, meaning that no policy or bill gets passed without their sign of approval.

That means, no matter which of these guys win, they would still need the queen’s approval.

Which was kind of a problem.

It was _the_ problem at the moment, really.

They don’t have a queen.

 

                “What are you doing here?”

Yao says, he sounded like he’s scolding him, even. Alfred reckons it must be because he almost got hit by a crumpled sheet of paper that was supposed to hit the door but didn’t because Yao opened it.

Not that he cares. It was Yao’s fault for opening the door.

“It’s my office, of course I’m going to be here.” He tells Yao, in his a-matter-of-factly voice that he knows will annoy his Jack. It seemed to work just fine, seeing Yao visibly twitch, his shoulders shaking and his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. He seemed to be only a little ways away from busting a vein in there.

Too bad it was Yao.

Instead of doing what Alfred wanted to see, he breathes through his nose. Inhale, exhale, inhale, and then exhale again. When he exhales for the last time, his shoulders are relaxed and his fists are no more.

“You were supposed to be at the marriage interview.” He hisses out, as if anyone could just easily overhear what he said. It was impossible though, since his offices are sound proof. It protects them from eavesdroppers. Can’t have tabloids publishing stupid things about their rulers and make the mobs angry now, do they?

It wasn’t like Alfred refusing a queen is new. He sits back on his seat, slouching. He shrugs and raises both feet to rest on the surface of his table. He’s got enough sense to tidy up before doing so lest important documents get disturbed from their proper places. If he remembers right, he had a court hearing to attend to later this evening. Something about a theft and a homicide.

“And now I’m not.” He tells his jack.

Yao’s brows furrow in concern. Wow, he’s really serious about this marriage thing, wasn’t he? “Last time you said she’s too funny for her age.”

“Twenty-year olds are supposed to be lame, my dude.”

He hears Yao sigh, getting angry is draining his energy it seems. He walks towards one of the chairs by the side of Alfred’s desk and rests on it. He raises a hand to stroke the lines between his eyebrows. He’s so gonna getting wrinkles if he doesn’t stop frowning so much. At least he’s following Alfred’s advise to do something about them, even if the constant worrying doesn’t stop.

“And now?” Yao asks tiredly. Alfred knows Yao already knows the answer to that, but if Yao is some closet masochist, then so be it.

He shrugs, “His hair was funny-looking.”

 

                When Alfred got up that morning, he groaned. Loudly.

His guts were telling him that this day is going to be the worst thing yet. Aside from it being Monday.

He hated Mondays, see. Also, Mondays are usually the day Yao sets the marriage interviews: another reason to not go to work.

Too bad that he’s literally the King, meaning he lives in the Palace where he practically works. There’s no way he can lie and call-in sick, unless he manages to bribe the physician who will be checking on him. Too bad the guy lives in the palace too, had known Alfred too well ever since the King was a mere boy.

Too fucking bad.

On his way to the room where he was supposed to meet his “queen-to-be”, he made sure to walk very slowly, annoying his Jack who decided to walk with him today to where he’s supposed to go. It seems that Yao might just barricade the door once Alfred gets in just to make sure he won’t leave before the supposed appointment ends.

God, he wished something big would happen today.

Like clubs declaring war. Ivan looks like the type to do that shit anyway. Creepy bastard.

Oh---but then they’ll _really_ need a queen more badly, won’t they? Okay,  never mind. Scratch that off, bad plan.

So he walks in his slow pace, so slow he knows in himself that Yao might just win from this little race that Alfred made-up in his head. His Jack’s physically weak that it hurts how he looks like he’s trying to kill himself just to keep the pace with Alfred’s usual strides, sometimes.

He was about to reach for the door knob when one of his guards comes running towards them, trying to catch his breath. He must’ve run quite a distance.

From the looks of it, it was something important too.

More important than Alfred meeting a prospective bride, anyway.

But still! Anything is better than being forced to get married! Yay for this guy! His mind soars with delight, whereas the him on the outside furrows his brows, his face grave as he asks the man what was wrong. His mind was screaming “Yes! Get me outta here!” at the same time.

“A man was found by the docks. He was suspected to be a crew of _Titania,_ Sir.”

At this, Alfred and Yao stiffen. _Titania._ A few days ago, Alfred received news from the navy that they encountered the infamous pirate ship. They tried to negotiate at first, get the crew to give up without risking a fight but as expected, their words were replied with a shot of a canon and a fight ensued.

Titania was reported to have sunk, half of its crew missing along with its elusive captain.

They had what was left of its crew in custody under interrogation but so far none has spoken a word about their captain’s whereabouts or even its name or face. They were drawing blanks.

Finding another crew---who could possibly help move the investigation further, would be a big help.

It seems that the marriage interview will have to be postponed, but Alfred does not see anything to be happy or sad about it at the moment. There’s a chance that they can get information on the Titania’s captain. This man whose tales were told of by fishermen and merchant ships alike. The one they heard that managed to sink the Diamond’s armada, of all things. Antonio never stopped cursing him and his ship on days he drowned in ale.

“Take me to him.”

 

                When Alfred sees him in the interrogation room, the first thing that comes to mind was, he’s _clean_.

It was a strange thing to think of, because the men that they detained were all filthy. The water that was used to wash them clean came up muddy. It was a given, with them spending most of their  days in the sea---bathing was a privilege where clean water is used more for quenching one’s thirst.

This man though, he’s clean. He heard that he was given new clothes---upon noticing the plain shirt and pants, his feet bare. His skin is scarily pale that it made Alfred wonder if this man really was a crew of Titiania or was just a person who happened to get washed into their docks.

So far, the only ship reported that have sunk in their waters was the Titania, so any doubts about him being anything else but a pirate was out in an instant.

“Has he said anything yet?” He asks the man in charge in the room as he looks at the pirate through the one-way mirror right outside the room he was contained in.

“We have yet to speak to him, Sir.”

Alfred takes his time to reply, content to observe the man as he turns his head full of pale hair to turn towards the mirror, right at Alfred’s direction as if he heard him. His eyes are big and bright, full of curiosity and innocence that is not befitting of someone of his kind. Alfred had heard of the news, of the people and the ships the pirates had raided. How they take all their supplies and barely leave a barrel of food to last the victims for a few days until they find a port to seek help.

Titania is a name that the sailors have grown to be wary of. To avoid at all costs.

“Let me,” Alfred says, his expression hard, making him appear older. He couldn’t let people like him do this anymore. It’s not right.

He gets escorted towards the room, where he sees the pirate stare at the mirror, staring at his own reflection it seems, with the way the turns his head left and right, touching his cheek and ruffling his hair. It makes Alfred feel uneasy. Something about this feels off.

“You, sit properly.” His escort tells the pirate. The pirate turns his attention away from the mirror to look at them, his eyes lingering for a moment at each of them, taking their appearances in. Alfred wasn’t wearing his coat, the only clothing people use to recognise him as their King, aside from the pocket watch that would usually reside in his chest pocket. It was going to be impossible for this man to know that he’s a monarch.

The man before them gives them a wary look, his brows furrowed and his jaw set. He would probably growl if it wasn’t for the men behind Alfred carrying rifles. He raises both his legs and wraps his arms around them, using them as shield from the threats in front of him by trying to make himself appear smaller. Weaker.

Once Alfred is seated, he asks, “Do you know why you are here?”

The man’s brows remained furrowed, his lips set into a frown and his chin tucked behind his knees. He shakes his head weakly.

“Do you remember what happened before they found you?” He shakes his head again.

“Can you speak?” At this, the man opens his mouth and croaks. He clears his throat, then tries again, “…yes.” His voice was weak, a sign that he hasn’t spoken since he was detained---maybe for even longer. Alfred is starting to frown again, something really wasn’t right. He asks again, just to confirm his thoughts.

“Do you,” he feels himself hesitating, but he has to know. He has the right to, he remembers. This is an interrogation. “Know who you are?”

At this, the man turns away. His eyes focused of his toes, fingers wriggling against the cool steel they were resting on. His hands tighten from where they grip at his legs and he looked troubled.

“No.” He says, with finality.


	2. Chapter 2

                A man claiming to not know his own identity after being found floating almost half-dead by the docks was not a surprise to Alfred’s men, claiming that a suspect pretending to not be in any way affiliated with whatever they were accused of was already expected from the very  moment they took him in for interrogation after everything was checked and done in the medical ward. The doctors said that the man was good to go, after all. Meaning he doesn’t have any injuries that could be fatal in the long run.

As believable as those were, Alfred still found himself in doubt. The man’s reactions---to himself, more specifically---the way he moves and fidgets in his own seat like he has no idea on what to do with himself, what to do in the situation---seemed so real.

If all of this were just some act, then Alfred could really give it to the guy---he’s good.

Alfred gets pulled from his thoughts when he hears the door to the interrogation room open, followed by some hisses and grunts. He hurriedly turns his attention to the noise and sees one of the guards grunt as they struggle with pulling a person inside the room. He’s dirty, wearing the same clothes he had when he was first brought in. The smooth floor squeaks whenever he presses his bootless foot down, trying his hardest oppose the guard that was dragging him into the room.

Alfred turns his attention back to the man in front of him, trying to look for any sort of reaction. Something akin to recognition.

Unfortunately, there was nothing.

On the other side though, unexpected it may be, their captive stiffened. His body grew rigid, giving the guard a chance to push him completely inside and toss him to a seat that was recently pulled next to their John Doe.

At first, he appeared like he cannot take his eyes off the man before him, barely making a reaction as his cuff was attached to the metal table, keeping him from bolting and making a commotion, as he was known to do in the past few days they were kept in custody. The next moment after that, as if getting his composure back, he turns his eyes towards Alfred, the person sitting in the opposite side of the table, their supposed interrogator. His face tells Alfred that the man was expecting to be slapped across the face. Alfred knows that that could be due to past experience, but he chooses to do nothing about it at the moment. Desperate times call for desperate measures, most especially if these people aren’t afraid to kill any of the guards they can get close to. Alfred lost two men already, killed by plunging a sharpened bone into their jugular, of all things.

These people are not something to be taken lightly.

“For the last time, I’m not saying anything.” He growled. Alfred noticed their John Doe flinch at the sound then shuffle away, further into the other side of his seat.

“What about to your friend over there?” Alfred points his chin towards their John Doe, who stared at them in silence, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It’s as if he had no idea of what was going on.

Alfred continues, “You’re the first mate, there’s no way none of the crews wouldn’t recognise who you are,” he turns his head towards their John Doe’s direction, “and vice-versa.”

This seems to have quieted the first mate, the hostility in his eyes evaporating into something like anxiety. He swallows as his face morphs into a deep scowl then turns a subtle eye towards the man next to him; his eyes boring deep into the other’s that seemed to make him uncomfortable. Their John Doe’s mouth hangs open for a while, and then turns his eyes towards Alfred then back to the first mate, as if asking Alfred for some help.

It doesn’t make sense.

“What are you planning on doing to him?” The first mate suddenly blurts. He looked intimidating again, his dark hair dishevelled and greasy as they clung to his cheeks. He appeared animalistic, his hands gripping his seat’s armrests tightly, his knuckles bone-white.

“So you _do_ know him,” Alfred raises an eyebrow, unaffected with the visible threat in front of him.

He watches in satisfaction as the first mate breaks his expression, looks vulnerable for a moment before becoming desperate as he turns his head towards their John Doe, who remained unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Alfred isn’t afraid to order torture.

If it will make Titania’s crew talk.

“Arthur,” Alfred raises an eyebrow, as he watches the first mate mutter a name, his attention towards their John Doe. The way he speaks of the name, as if it was something to be revered, to be held close. Thoughts ran wild in Alfred’s head. He furrows his brows as he thinks of the possibilities, his hand absently coming up from his lap towards his chin as he leans his head to rest on it as he thinks.

The first mate knows who their John Doe is, and the way he treats him isn’t a way a superior is supposed to address a faceless subordinate.

“What happened to you?” He continues, as he had forgotten he’s being interrogated right now. As if he had forgotten that everything that comes out of his mouth right now will be recorded and noted.

As if they would not be used against him.

“Am I supposed to know you?” Their John Doe—now dubbed as Arthur---says, as he looks at the first mate warily, his feet rising to rest on the seat as well as he brings his arms around his knees to keep them close to himself.

The first mate gasps, “It’s me! Sally! Your--!” his words come into an abrupt halt, his voice catching in his throat as he remembers just who and what their current audience was. This was the first time they had heard the first mate say anything at all. He turns a defiant look towards Alfred, as if daring him to say anything, to ask about it.

Alfred doubts that Sally is this man’s real name. It sounded more like…a pet name.

...Doesn’t it?

Arthur’s confusion never left. He looks at Sally, _really_ looks at him, his eyes turning up and down his form. From his dirtied face up to his bare foot.

Arthur turns his head left and right.

“I’m… sorry, but I truly do not…” He seemed genuinely apologetic as he turns his head down; burying what he could of his face between his knees to hide his distress.

He doesn’t recognise this man.

Alfred had never seen the look of defeat mar the first mate’s face until now.

He doesn’t know if this was a good or a bad thing. He’s got too many unknowns to solve for their missing variable.

But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t find the relationship between X, Y, and Z.

“Well then, that’s it for you.” He says as he stands up from his seat, making a show of stretching out some supposed kinks he got.

He watches from the corner of his eyes as the first mate gets taken by guards, to be lead back to his holding cell. Contrary to Alfred, he doesn’t seem to be done with his business yet.

Alfred gets the desired reaction.

“I swear, if you do anything to him, I’ll---“

“---What, _kill_ me?” He cuts in, he seemed to have lost his composure for a moment, feeling the ends of his lips curl up into a smile that brought chills down those who saw it in the room. Sally the first mate seethes in his place, cuffed and held by two men bigger than him, making him incapable of acting on his desire to claw Alfred’s eyes out, rip him open bare-handed and shove his innards up his smile after he successfully pulls it out of Alfred’s own body.

“Your _darling Arthur_ is in good hands,” he says, then walks to where Arthur sat to put his hand down Arthur’s seat, just to watch those green eyes burn in hatred. He looks like he’s going to chew on his own cuffs with how much he’s gritting his teeth, his jaw set into sharp angles.

“Trust me.” He adds, as an afterthought.

The first mate’s mouth opens, about to retort but Alfred flicks his hand, signalling his men to put him back to his cell, and so he was dragged away.

When he’s gone, Alfred turns to look at Arthur---if that really was his name, that is---who looks up at him in fear. Alfred can’t blame him, really; if he heard those things about himself he would’ve bolted and ran.

Lucky for this guy, he won’t be able to do much to him for a while unless he’s proven to be really guilty. Alfred’s words are law, with the position of the queen still empty and Alfred thinks that he had a lot of thinking to do before he puts some orders down.

He’ll feel really bad if this guy was just some captive the first mate has simply fancied. Mateship is getting popular in the sea, last time Alfred heard.

For all they know, Arthur could just be a victim, really.

So he smiles down at Arthur, to reassure the man that he’s safe and nothing bad will happen to him. When the actions failed, he tried with words.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He says, apologetic, the words spoken low in his throat to not startle the other. “Gotta keep some things in line, yanno?” He winks.

When he gets no response other than a dubious look over Arthur’s knees, his expression becomes sympathetic, his mouth quirked into a wry smile and his brows slightly furrowed. He gets on his knees by the chair---Arthur doesn’t look like the type to kick someone’s head off, so he wasn’t wary---and sticks his hand out.

“Hey, wanna live in the royal palace for a while? Until we got your stuff sorted out---that won’t be anything about hurting you. I promise.” At this point, Alfred already gave up with getting any word out of the other. He doesn’t seem like the talkative type, anyway.

“I’m Alfred, by the way.” He grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sally is short for Salvatore who is aph portugal in this au


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King and his Jack seems to know more than they're letting on---or do they?

Arthur—their John Doe---peers into the tinted windows of Alfred’s car as they enter the royal estate, the royal palace large and old and looming somewhat intimidating over them. He had his hands---bony and long, Alfred silently remarks to himself---on the window with his forehead, his eyes large and aglow with awe and admiration as they scan the palace and the grounds.

He seemed to have forgotten that he’s not alone in the car, jumping from one vacant seat and the other as he switches between windows to get a better look. The cushions bounce as he goes, making Yao wince and jump on his own seat. There was one time Arthur had to crawl over Yao’s lap to get to the other side and accidentally presses too hard on Yao’s thighs, making him hiss and jump. Arthur stared at him apologetically, at which the Jack smiles and nods at politely, quick to forgive.

Once the car stops at the entrance, the servants already by the door, ready to greet them all in, Arthur appeared more subdued than he was in the car. Silently, he trailed not too far behind the monarchs, eyeing the straight line of servants and butlers on either sides of the room who all subtly raised their heads and gazed right back with eyes glazed with wonder and confusion on who could Arthur be and why is he with the monarchs.

He’s still dressed in the plain clothes he was handed with back at the interrogation room; his feet now covered with white plain tennis shoes. One size bigger than his feet but it was the only size closest available, so they had to make do.

Alfred ensured the other that he’ll get the man an entire wardrobe once they get home, at which he was asked, voice low and meek, eyes warily darting to the guards standing behind Alfred, eyes all at Arthur, in case he does something they doesn’t like, “Where are we, exactly?”

Alfred just smiles, head slightly turning towards the guards behind him and subtly raises a hand to order them at ease and replies to Arthur, “We’re in Spades, darling.”

Alfred’s smile morphs into a toothy grin when the other flushes at his words. Regardless, he doesn’t refuse the eye contact and stays still, gaze strong. “Do I really have to live in the _royal palace_?”

“Of course!” Alfred replies, smile never faltering. “I live there, after all.”

Arthur’s brows scrunch together, eyes looking down to gaze at his hands, nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. “Why?”

Alfred simply smiles, eyes glowing in mischief.

The King of Spades is still, despite his amazing accomplishments, a teenager.

Teenagers like to play.

“No,” Alfred hears Arthur breathe out next to him. He sees him look around, towards the portraits decorating the walls and Alfred knows just which portrait elicited such reaction from the other man.

“You’re the _King_ of Spades?”

It pulls a smile on Alfred’s lips and he turns his head away to face the window, scoffing at the scenery outside. His response pretty much says it all.

 

* * *

 

               There was commotion in the royal palace once the rumours that Titania’s captain will not be detained, but instead _invited_ , of all things, as a guest to stay in the King of Spade’s home. At the sight of some of the older members of the royal council flocking the entranceway, with looks ranging from anger to disappointment marring their faces, Alfred feels his eyes roll to the back of his head. Yao hisses at him to stop, and it simply makes him do it more, much to his Jack’s comfort and by extension, Arthur’s as well.

These are actions not befitting a king, after all.

“What,” One of the council member stomps forward, hissing, “is the meaning of this?”He points a nasty finger at Arthur’s way, making Alfred scowl. Before Arthur could even react at the finger-pointing, Alfred motions for the butler waiting by the entrance to lead their _guest_ to one of the newly furnished rooms, keep him company and comfortable.

The butler doesn’t ask questions and simply follows his words to a tee, giving Arthur a polite push into the building,  leaving Alfred and his Jack to deal with politics once more.

The first thing Alfred does is to slap that offending finger away, causing the people---save for the jack and the rest of his servants---to gasp. It wasn’t a sight to behold after all---a youngster, be he the King or anyone else for that matter, practically showing an elder disrespect.

Spades is the second-most progressive kingdom in the world, but still the most traditional. One of the things Spades preferred to keep preserved is the act of respecting one’s elder---but nonetheless, Alfred _is_ the King, despite his age. He was declared crowned prince the day he was born, as was his right as the King’s first and only son.

The royal councillors, however, got their positions through election. It means that the people chose them, their right to their positions only valid as long as the people favoured them until the next election, shall the time arrive. It’s a fact and it’s what gives Alfred the confidence when he stood his ground, his displeased scowl so severe it actually drove what of the council’s members’ own expressions into something submissive.

“How dare you,” Alfred says, “point your hand like that to him.”

They recover from the initial shock, of course, and continue to frown. At least now, he has the sense to keep his hands to himself, “He’s the dreaded _Captain_ of Titania, of course this is the way we would react!” His expression becomes pained, “Your Majesty, please, see some sense!”

“Oh, but I am _seeing_ sense. Seeing it so well, in fact,” He walks past them and makes his way into the entrance, leaving them gaping at his retreating back, his ever-loyal Jack in tow, “that I know who he really is.” He pauses, and shows them a disappointed face, “The rest of you should have too, must have realised this sooner than I did, actually, but seeing the way you all reacted right now, its disappointing.” He shakes his head and leaves them behind.

“What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?”

“Idiots, all of them.” Alfred mutters to himself, refusing to turn back to them again and explain further. He had seen and heard enough, and with the way his Jack reacted---watching silently and nodding to Alfred’s last words---it seemed that he did the right choice.

On his way to his office, he turns to his Jack, “Yao,” He tells him, “Contact the Diamonds, get the Kirklands involved.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else and Yao immediately bows, as per his country’s custom and says, “Understood.”

 

* * *

 

               It doesn’t come as a surprise then, that as soon as his Jack contacted the Diamond’s own with the news at hand, one Lord Allistor of the Kirkland house comes barrelling into the Kingdom of Spades in a span of no less than a day. After passing through Spades’ tight customs and settling his things aside, he wastes no time in heading straight to the royal palace to demand audience with the King, shoving every guard and knight that tried to stop him from getting his supposed well-deserved due the King of Diamonds’ decree about his current position in this state of affairs.

“I was sent by King Francis of Diamonds, as ordered by your own King Alfred of Spades. So I’ll repeat again,” Shoving the still surprisingly neat parchment with the King of Diamond’s wax seal onto a knight’s face, he bites out, “I demand the King of Spades’ audience, right now!”

The document is indeed real, and so is Allistor Kirkland’s own knight standing by his side and of course, there wouldn’t be a problem in setting a court for the man to see the King, but it’s currently in the early hours of the morning. People---the important ones, for the matter---has yet to be awake, save for the servants of course, who need to do some cleaning, sweeping, and cooking for the day’s breakfast.

It’s also disrespectful if they were to wake the King at this hour, and he had the right to kick the Earl out of the palace---at least for the time being, until the King is ready to receive audiences. But in this case, he was afraid to. It wouldn’t be much of problem if the Earl was that of Spades, but this from a different Kingdom. There is duty to the King and there is also the sense to know that this man before him has a temper of a rabid dog. No matter how gentle you push at it, it will still count as a push and every push is a violent attack on their person.

He turns his head to look at the enraged Earl’s knight and sees just how as uncomfortable he was with the way his lord has been acting. Well, then, at least its good to know that this kind of behaviour is at least not common in Diamonds.

The commotion would have probably gotten bigger, as there were servants already loitering near the area, some rushing out to probably call a butler when the King’s guest---the suspected Pirate Captain---comes walking in on them, feet bare and wearing nothing but his cotton pants. An uncommon sight in royal palaces, the knight is sure, but common enough in the Spades’ since the first night of the man’s stay. It’s rare to see someone be so comfortable in their own skin, rarer still to see someone comfortable in His Majesty’s abode!

“What’s going on?” Arthur mutters, unaware of just who was standing in front of him. Panic settles in the knight’s gut, as well as the rest of the by-standers, afraid of what the enraged Earl might do not only at the blatant disrespect for authority but as well as the state of his dress. The King had strictly ordered everyone in the palace to treat the man as they would treat the King himself. Any offense done against Arthur will be offense against the King. This could bring about problems that may border diplomatic relations between Spades and Diamonds itself.

But then the unexpected happens.

Once the Earl’s reddened face turns to confront the disrespecting intruder, his eyes settling on the other, his expression crumbles into something broken. His brows furrow and his hands shake, his hands ball into fists, actually crushing his well-taken cared of document. He looked like he had seen a ghost. All the fight in him had seem to have left him.

“I can’t believe it,” He rasps, and takes a wobbly step forward towards Arthur. It’s apparent that Arthur doesn’t understand what is going on, and so does everyone else who was spectator to the scene. In response to the Earl, he takes a wary step backward, his expression much more awake than the one he had come in with. Then the Earl suddenly dashes towards him, further surprising everyone when it turns out to be a crushing hug.

“Arthur, oh God, it _is_ you!” He cries into Arthur’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, really, this is how I've seen it when you guys asked me to write a spades au.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's first day in the royal palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit occurs a day after chapter 2 and three days before chapter 3.

               A day passes since Arthur’s unexpected residence in the Royal palace and Alfred finds it...peaceful.

The investigation for the missing captain of Titania is still on-going, of course, and so are the rumours about Arthur’s identity and some others on why he, the King himself, have decided to take in a suspicious individual into his own home. Some say it’s due to King’s tendency to attract disaster, being a _child_ and all while some say its along the lines of “keeping one’s enemy closer.”

Neither lies anywhere closer to the truth and if Alfred were to be honest, he prefers it that way.

None of the crews were willing to talk, much less the first mate, and for now, Alfred has resigned to keeping them in police custody until they could be given individually a trial for the crimes they had done. A criminal is still a criminal after all, whether the mastermind is present or not does not change that fact.

It’s a Tuesday, which is supposed to be a milder version of Monday, so it’s somewhat tolerable but since Alfred had missed his marriage interview yesterday, Yao had decided to reschedule some things he’s ought to do this Tuesday to make way for the delayed interview.

Which brings Alfred to the now.

His office is no longer a safe haven for him to hide from, not since Yao had finally realised Alfred’s drive in pushing marriage proposals away. If he’s being real, Yao would’ve really succeeded in forcing Alfred today to meet with his potential Queen, you know, if Alfred didn’t happen to be two steps ahead of him. Or a hundred, in a literal sense---We’ll get to that later.

Now, Yao is a man of action just as he is a man of routine. Things cannot move from point A to C without passing through point B first and in this case, Alfred’s week cannot move forward without ticking every little thing he’s scheduled to finish in chronological order. If Alfred were to “suggest” something like two marriage interviews in one day, the man would have probably killed him for suggesting something so unworldly and stupid.

What Alfred is trying to say here, is that he had known that Yao would most definitely reschedule the interview, instead of cancelling it altogether and thus Alfred managed to squeeze in some little bit of an escape heist in the little time he has between finishing a scheduled work and Yao entering his office to fetch him personally for the interview.

The plan is simple: finish as much work as he possibly could, then once there is an hour left before his Jack comes over to pick him up, he will make his escape, making sure that no servant, knight, or guard will ever see him leave his office, including the CCTVs, of course. In a place where monarchy lives, such a feat is impossible, but Alfred grew up here. This place was his playground when he wasn’t allowed to leave the palace and play in a real one because his parents wanted him to grow up sheltered and “well-cared” for. It’s easy to find the one spot where the CCTVs cannot see, as well as knowing that no one would ever think to look for the King in the infamous garden maze because everyone knows that the King does not like the outdoors, much less the garden maze itself that gained its fame when the back-then crowned prince had a horse-riding accident where he got thrown onto a shrub of prickly roses that scarred the young prince for life.

He started hating roses after that, despite their colour and allure. Beautiful as they are, they are still ridden with thorns, ready to prick and hurt you. That of course, does not mean that he won’t learn to grow out of it. He still does not fancy roses, doesn’t see it as beautiful as the next guy, but at least nowadays, he can stand to stare at a rose without flinching or wanting it out of his sight for good.

The maze garden is usually bare of people on most days due to security, the only times the place being accessible to anyone else is when parties are held, so Alfred thinks that walking around the maze for a couple of hours is good enough of a place for him to hide until the heat---Yao’s temper---dies down. At some point in his walk, he even considered getting purposely lost, so even then, by the time they find him, he’ll have some excuse ready to shoot Yao’s way that does not consist of him complaining about some “lacking” feature a prospective spouse has. The idea doesn’t sound so bad.

So he did it.

He can’t tell for how long had he been wandering the maze, with nothing but his own thoughts and the green of the leaves and the occasional blue patches of roses as his company, but at some point, he finds himself stopping in his tracks, surprised when his eyes land on a figure crouching low on the ground, by one corner of one of the walls that indicate a turn in the maze, that seemed to be busy observing something. He would have ran, if it was one of those gardeners tasked with the maintenance, but that distinctive mess of pale hair tells Alfred that he knows who this person is.

“Hey, Arthur.” At his call, Alfred sees Arthur’s shoulders flinch, then slowly turn his head towards Alfred. It seemed to take him a moment before he could gather his bearings and realise who it is he is seeing before him, and once it did, he abruptly stands, gasping, “Your Majesty!”

He puts his hands on his back, his legs standing straight at attention. He looked like a squire on his first day of duty, and Alfred doesn’t doubt that it was indeed, the squires, who taught Arthur to stand like that in front of him. He couldn’t help but laugh, but as he tried to stop it, knowing how nasty that reaction is, turned his laugh into a snort, which is probably worse.

Arthur only looks up at him in confusion, doesn’t seem in any way offended, which is good, but may also mean he doesn’t know its demeaning, so he shakes his head in response and apologises, “I’m sorry, I just thought---well,” He gestures at Arthur’s form---back straight and taut, feet closed together and hands behind his back, “Kind of school boy-ish.” When the only response he gets is a wide-eyed stare of further confusion, he adds, “It’s cute.”

There is that lovely shade of red on that face again. Alfred shakes his head and waves off, “Stop, stop, there’s no need with the formalities, we’re friends here!”

Arthur nods, relaxing but furrows his brows, “But you’re the King.”

“Yeah, and I say you’re a friend and you don’t need to do any of that formal stuff with me.”

At the look of uncertainty in Arthur’s eyes, Alfred shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it!”

“If,” Arthur swallows, “If you say so...Alfred.”

“Yeah, that’s it! You got it!” He approaches Arthur and offers his hand in a high-five, at which the other only stares. He pauses, “Don’t you know what a high-five is?” Internally, he thinks maybe it has something to do with the amnesia?

Arthur frowns, “Of course I know what a high-five is.”

“Then why aren’t you reciprocating?”

Arthur’s frown deepens, “Because I don’t want to.”

“Oh,” Alfred winces, taking his hand back and letting it fall to his side. He looks around the maze, and at the spot he had previously seen the other crouching at. He doesn’t see anything worth noticing. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur’s eyes stray back to the empty spot where he had been before and shrugs, “Looking around.” Alfred’s eyebrows rise, “For what?”

“Things.” Arthur replies. He then pulls out a rose from his back pocket, something Alfred hasn’t noticed dangling in there before. He hands the rose to the King, at which Alfred takes reluctantly, surprised. “Um, thanks? What’s this for?”

“My gratitude for what you’ve done for me so far, I guess.” He shrugs. He doesn’t sound in any way as sincere as he said.

“Um, okay?” Alfred turns the rose this way and that, noticing how perfectly round its shape was, its petals insanely proportionate from one another, and that it’s lacking its natural, prickly thorns. Arthur noticed the way he eyes the rose, and he says, “I found what I think is the prettiest one yet, so I plucked it off and took out its thorns.” He frowns, and then asks the King, “It’s alright to pick flowers off your garden, right?”

It really isn’t, “Yeah, sure.” Alfred writes down in his internal memo to tell everyone that Arthur is allowed to do as he pleases, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody. Any human bodies. Yes.

He’s still focused on the rose, couldn’t really take his eyes off its perfectly symmetric and proportionate features when Arthur speaks again, “Are you lost too?”

 

* * *

 

               Needless to say, Alfred’s supposed some few hours or more of hiding plan went to the gutter when he decided to help Arthur get out of the maze the moment the other had asked if he was lost. The answer is no, of course. He knows the maze well because he grew up in the royal palace and that the entire estate was his personal playground as a child. Arthur doesn’t need to know the last bits, he thought, and simply replied with a no, snorting all the while in his amusement.

It seems that Arthur had been lost for three hours since they came out of the maze and had lost his shoes during the times he had attempted to scale the walls only to fail, after realising that the walls aren’t as sturdy as they had looked. That makes sense, since the wall is only made of thick shrubs of roses piled or closely stacked together by His Majesty’s best engineers and gardeners.

The moment one servant sees them casually leaving out of the maze, they run towards their King, bowing low. “Your Majesty,” They start, “The Jack has been looking you.” They didn’t bother to mention how it had almost erupted in a panic when no one was able to tell the Jack of his whereabouts, save for his office which was proven to unoccupied for God knows how long, and how the CCTVs weren’t a big help either because it only shows the King entering, and never leaving.

The King replies, oh so casually, like his sudden disappearance of no more than five hours, “Oh, sorry, but will you be so nice as to tell him I’ll have to see him _later_?” He doesn’t seem to notice the sudden shift of his servant’s expression from being humbly submissive to very troubled as he continues, pulling his guest right next to him by the shoulders the way one would a friend, “I need to get Arthur some new pair of shoes, see. He got lost in wandering around in there and lost his previous pair, might as well we go shopping, eh?”

This is the part where one must remember the rumours: of the King’s guest being the actual infamous captain of the ship Titania and that this scene here just shows much the captain has managed to get the King wrapped under his thumb. If one came up with these kinds of conclusions, however, without studying the context as well the as some of the royal palace’s residents, they would be immediately called stupid.

This scene right here is a scheme His Majesty, the King is at play, with the unfortunate guest as his latest scapegoat to escape his Jack’s not-so-gentle anymore persuasion at marriage. If the King is speaking to his Jack right now, this would have never been allowed to happen but as it is, the servant is no Jack and thus all they could do is nod and wish the King a merry way, as they gather some people to help prepare the King’s car and set some guards or knights who will be accompanying the King in his little shopping while finding a way of how the servant is going to say this their Jack, who is visibly in the brink of lashing out, but not really.

As the King and his guest walk away, the guest still stuck to the King’s side due to his hand wrapped around a shoulder, Arthur uncomfortably turns his head back to the servant, who was in their way to accomplish the orders given out to them. He mutters to the King, “I don’t really need a new pair.”

Alfred laughs, pulling Arthur harder to his person, “Of course, you do! You’re my guest, you only deserve the best.” When he notices that Arthur doesn’t look any less comfortable, he finally lets him go. There was a sigh of relief that leaves Arthur’s mouth, and he swallows, ruffling his messy hair. He looks around in confusion, not with the intention to _see_ the environment, per se, but to just _think_. He seemed to do a lot of thinking ever since he was found drifting ashore, to be frank, but it’s justified, with how confused he was with everything.

“Is this normal?” He asks Alfred. He seemed genuinely confused, and his eyes strays to the rose still held between the King’s hand.

“What is?”

“The way you’re treating me.”

 _Not really,_ Alfred wanted to say, but Arthur wouldn’t really understand why if he said so. That Arthur could possibly be _the_ Arthur Kirkland, youngest son of the then head of the Kirkland house who went mysteriously missing some years ago. A lot of rumours about the cause went from something reasonable like running away to excessively delusional (but not possible, according to the locals) like getting spirited away. Of course, if you’re of non-noble origin who enjoyed watching cheesy TV drama, you would assume some murder was involved but the family is covering it up with their money or something, which doesn’t really make much sense either if you look at it more closely because Arthur Kirkland is the fourth son, the only ones to receive a title after the older brother inherits from their father would be the second son. There would be no benefit from killing the youngest son, unless of course, it’s to cut-off any expenses for his needs, which is outrageous.

The story hailed from the Kingdom of Diamonds, and Alfred was but a newly-crowned King at that time. He wasn’t supposed to know of such things but Alfred had always been a curious child. He spent most of his free time after private lessons reading up on conspiracy theories and to think that this one could just be the answer---that the youngest son of Lord Kirkland was kidnapped by pirates!

“It’s complicated,” He ended up saying instead. He doesn’t really want to turn out to be right and have Arthur’s immediate family then see the man’s living conditions and somehow end up getting bad-mouthed if the family deemed it irresponsible or just not up to their standards. What not up to standard anyway, this is the goddamned royal palace of Spades!

“Just, you know---“ Alfred begins, making Arthur’s head turn towards his direction again in attention. He waves his hand in a vague gesture, “Treat this as some nice vacation, play around and imagine we’re best friends!”

Then he adds, “They found a lead on your identity,” By they, he meant himself, of course. “and they’re actually just fixing up a couple of things before you could officially meet your family or close acquaintances. After that, we can see if some things will clear up on your end,” He taps on his head, to indicate to Arthur just what he meant by that and Arthur nods in rapt attention. Alfred is not the only one looking for answers.

“If the lead is dead and nothing turned up for you though, you’re always welcome to stay here until you get your own bearings at least. We’re not kicking you out for any mistaken identity or anything.”

Any attempts of Alfred at comfort for Arthur doesn’t seem to work as the expression on the other’s face remains neutral and calculating and instead he responds, “And if it’s true?”

There’s no need for much clarification on what he meant. Arthur was found floating by the docks near the crashing site of Titania. All the crew of the ship survived unscathed and taken into custody, save for their missing captain. It’s not hard to connect the dots, not with facts staring at them in the face like this.

Alfred turns away, inhaling quietly through his mouth. “Well then,” He mutters.

* * *

 

               He is the King; there are better ways to go about some things.

Most of his clothes were sewn by the royal tailor; most of his shoes were either ordered or specially made as well. Arthur could have been left to stay put in the palace and fetch someone who can take his size and fetch him the pair. Alfred could probably lend him some of his own or find something lying around. It’s not hard. He could even just ask someone to enter the maze and look for Arthur’s discarded pair!

Doing those however, meant that Yao would definitely see it as no reason for his King to mill about because Arthur is an amnesiac, not an invalid and he could go without the King’s assistance of all people and would he please see his new spouse-to-be?

No, Alfred can’t have that happening so using Arthur’s lack of footwear as an excuse, he brought him to a shopping district.

There is quite the crowd amassing outside the shop, mostly young men and women, with their camera phones out in the hopes to capture their young King to probably post on social media---it’s what the kids of this generation is interested, these days. Alfred would’ve done the same too, if he were in their shoes and he’s not really much bothered about it as he should be because at least his men are doing their jobs in keeping the crowd at bay as he pull Arthur around the display cases, occasionally listening to the staff assigned to assist them whenever he points at a pair he sees worth wearing.

No matter how fun and casual Alfred makes it to be, Arthur’s eyes kept on straying at the crowd his expression now uncomfortable---it seemed to have become his usual expression, and Alfred finds it worrying.

“I don’t really, erm...” His eyes flick from Alfred, to the crowd, and then to the shoes on the display cases.

“It’s okay! Just pick one.” Or more, he doesn’t really mind. The more time spent outside, the less likely he’ll be obligated to do an interview. He wishes his Jack knows the meaning of surrender, and feels the slightest bit of pity for Arthur, for being the one to be subjected to the King’s whims.

Arthur shakes his head, turning away, “I don’t really---uh.” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes fixated on something. Alfred is quick to latch on. “You see something you like?”

Arthur flushes, “No...! Um, not exactly.”

Alfred turns to where Arthur’s eyes are practically glued on and doesn’t see anything again, that is, until the staff speaks up. “Oh, you mean this one!” He approaches one of the displays and picks up a heavy-looking bulky boot. It looks like one of those stuff his soldiers wear during training and drills, and briefly wonders why it’s an actual thing people wear for fashion. It’s not really his thing, but the way Arthur eyes it, it probably is his.

Alfred thought Arthur couldn’t get any redder, but he did. He started stammering now, looking between the shoe and Alfred nervously. “You want that one?” He asks Arthur and the other visibly shakes. Embarrassment, perhaps?

“Hey, it’s no big deal, man.” He assures the other, but he does eye the boots a little warily. “Though you might need another one fit for casual walks outside. You might end up tripping on shrubs or something.” At the reference for how Alfred had previously seen Arthur, the other shakes harder.

Arthur chooses to remain quiet, nodding.

Alfred gets him some pairs of clothes too, of course, after realising a bit that Arthur does need a decent wardrobe. Wearing the same kind---but different, mind---of shirts and pants suck, so he let Arthur choose what kind of clothes he wanted to wear. Most ended up looking pretty dark---the colours ranging from dark grey to black---and surprisingly he didn’t see any tight pants when they were checked out and packed into bags. He would’ve thought, with those boots he would those kind of pants to pair them up. Arthur sure has some weird tastes, but he shrugs it off. They’re just clothes, after all.

It’s already dark by the time they return to the palace, and Alfred is not in the least surprised when they see the Jack waiting by the palace doors, hands fisted to his sides but still look very royal than Alfred ever could with frayed hair.

“Your Majesty,” He greets Alfred, “You missed your interview.”

“Oh dear,” Alfred says in mock worry. His insincerity obviously did not go unnoticed, making the people present save for Arthur who doesn’t just understand and Yao, who knows the King had a hand on why things didn’t just go as planned today. Yao scowls.

“This is unsightly for a King,” he hisses, “His Majesty, to do.”

Alfred inhales at first then stopping for a moment to keep the air trapped in his lungs for a while, relish in that burn before releasing it slowly through his nose. Somehow or other, he snapped. “Maybe it’s because,” He starts gently, but as he speaks some more it gradually turned into a scream. “I don’t want a fucking queen!”

“Alfred,” Yao says, eyeing the people present warily, then to the view outside, for any signs of paparazzi littering the place, perhaps. He raises in his hands to placate, obviously wasn’t expecting things to go this way, but it did. His anger is momentarily deterred and he’s immediateely on damage control. “Calm down.”

“Oh, now you want _me_ to calm down? Where is your three-hour lecture on how I should be less of a brat and be more like the King that I am?”

“Alfred!” He pushes on Alfred to enter the palace, then gestures at the rest of the servants loitering about at the entrance to follow suit.

“Alfred, we are talking about this inside! Arthur,” He looks at the man in apology, “Please get back to your room, I’m sure you need some rest. It had been a long day.” It really was.

Arthur, wide-eyed and not quite expecting this side of the King to manifest at all, simply nods and goes.

Once Alfred and Yao are alone in the King’s chambers, Yao sighs and speaks, “Alfred, you need to see reason.”

“I don’t want it.” Alfred replies, his tone much more subdued than it did before. He’s more embarrassed than mad now, after realising how he had screamed a few moments ago. Right in front of Arthur too, of all people!

He sighs, raising his hand to stop his Jack from speaking before he does, “I’m, I’m sorry, for what I did earlier. The screaming, I mean. The rest, I’m not really.” Yao purses his lips in understanding and nods. He sighs too and shakes his head.

“If,” He begins, slowly, appearing as if he’s thinking over his words carefully. “If this is what you want, then I won’t force you anymore.” Alfred was actually taken aback and he whips his head to his direction so fast he felt like his head almost got thrown off.

“You mean that?”

Yao nods, “Yes.” Before Alfred can definitely cheer, Yao adds, raising his hand, “ _until_ you reach 21. That’s enough time for you to get really _around_ , maybe get an interest in marriage at all. People back at my homeland get married around your age, you know. Twenty one is too old, but if you feel like I’m smothering you too much---“

“But you do.” Alfred nods. Yao scowls.

“---Alright. Then I’ll give you two years to sort yourself out. We’ll talk about this again.”

“So, that’s it? You’re stopping these marriage interviews?”

“For now.” Yao nods.

 _For now_ , Yao says. He’ll stop pestering him about getting married for at least two years, before Yao tries to persuade him again, in the hopes that the King has by then matured and probably wishes for a spouse by his side by then. Alfred knows his opinions on the matter would never change, but having his Jack finally agree on a compromise, this talk has still ended in good terms. Two years is a long time, by then, perhaps in turn, he could shape his Jack to realise that the King is not interested in any of the sort. This could actually work.

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling himself much lighter than before and he turns to his Jack.

“Thank you.” The King tells his Jack, this time sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm motoroilfreeway, kind of part of the description is that I have no update schedule.
> 
> (I'm kind of sorry for the lack of responses, we're getting hit by a supertyphoon right now and just as i was uploading our power went down so i'm using my phone brower and data to upload. I'll get to it as soon as stuff settle down in our place)


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